


The End of It

by Lorraineee



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, feeling sentimental
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-08
Updated: 2013-08-08
Packaged: 2017-12-22 20:44:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/917826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lorraineee/pseuds/Lorraineee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John decides to tell his grandkids about the man he loved.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The End of It

**Author's Note:**

> Enjoy this little one-shot(:

Three in the morning. 

Like clockwork, I wake up with a jolt and roll over to find empty sheets. Then I stare off into the darkness, reminiscing.

He was so annoying. Irritating. Total dick. I hated him sometimes. At least, I wanted to. I'm not sure I could ever really hate him.

I thought he was immortal, somehow. After he faked his death so well, so effectively, I thought, well, that's the end of it, Sherlock and me are spending the rest of our lives together.

It tore me up, you know, seeing him dead, or what I thought was dead. It tore me up again when I had to come back to his grave over and over; I couldn't leave it alone. There was nothing left to rip apart when he came back. I think that must be when the healing started. 

I remember how much I didn't trust him, those first weeks. Months passed and I didn't let him leave my side, not even to go to the bank. I escorted him everywhere. I remember feeling compelled to constantly tell him how much I loved him. 

Every night. Over tea, watching our crappy little tele, in the cab. People's opinions be damned. 

I smile a little to myself and roll back over, eventually drifting off.

\---- 

"James, c'mere!" I wave the little toddler over and he scoots himself over my knee. Keeping one hand on his belly to steady him, I sip my coffee with the other, leaning back in my easy chair.

"Yeah, Gwampa?" He gives me a little gap-toothed smile.

"You wanna hear a story?"

He bounces up and down, his face lighting up. "Yeah!"

His sister comes up behind me. "Can I listen too?" 

I smile at her and nod, then offer her my other knee. She's eight, but who cares? You're never too big for Grandpa's knee.

"What's it about?"

"It's about your Granddad." I smile at them both and receive huge toothy grins in return. 

I feel a hand on my shoulder. "Feeling a bit sentimental, dad?"

I crane my neck around to smile at my son. 

"No, Hamish, it's just there are so many stories. I bet I could think of a couple even you and your sister haven't heard."

He laughs. "I could believe that."

"Well then," I nod at the floor. "Have a listen."

He obeys. 

"Well, James, he died when you were just a tiny baby. You know he insisted on calling you Jim. Irene, you remember him, don't you? He named you both, after all."

Both the kids nod, now listening intently.

I take a deep breath. "His name was Sherlock Holmes. And he was the greatest person who ever lived. I was lucky enough to have him as my husband."


End file.
